The starry view from the old ship’s bridge was replaced by a blinding light. He shielded his eyes from the flash with one hand and gripped the seat’s armrests with his left. He had no hands left to shield his ears from the deafening blast that followed.
The last thing you wanted to hear after a flash of light.
He opened his eyes slightly. The light was gone. What he saw when he opened them in full made his stomach drop.
“Fuck!” Everything outside the ship was spinning. Tinnitus was replaced by the shrill sound of the emergency alarm. Blinking yellow lights all around the bridge and on the controls only added to the chaos.
“Jenny, a report!” No answer.
Something was pulling him down. He tried to reach the command board, but his arms were as good as glued to the armrests. Was it the spinning? Fuck, the gravitational compensator had been hit. “Jenny, stabilize the ship!” Nothing.
“Jenny!” He managed to slide his right arm up his body to the buckles holding together the belts that kept him in place. If he didn’t stop the spinning, he’d lose consciousness in a matter of seconds.
He fumbled with the buckles as if he’d never opened them before. The extreme weight made his fingers clumsy. Drops of sweat dropped from his chin to his chest, hitting him like tiny rocks. He had to make it. He managed to get a hold of the clasp. It was heavy like nothing he’d lifted before, but at last the buckle popped open.
His aching arm gave out and crashed down on his lap. “Fucking shit!” There was no way it was moving again.
His breathing became shallow as his own weight pressed down on his lungs. Only the ship’s computer could help him now. Jenny, who’d been silent since the blast. Was she compromised too? “God damn it.” He took as deep a breath as he could. “Jenny!”
A loud noise. Everything went black.
He awoke to unfamiliar surroundings. It was cramped, really cramped. Belts bound him to a seat of some sort, and machines were hooked up to various parts of his body. In front, a tiny window let him look out. Tiny, white dots shone on an endless black canvas.
Where was his master?
He started panting and salivating. His heart beat faster than it ever had. He whined and barked, calling for his pack of white coats. After a while, he settled down to wait. They would pick him up eventually. Hunger and thirst tormented him. The smell of food was nowhere near. His water had run out.
Then came the heat.
It started with a mild rise in temperature. Uncomfortable, but not too bad. With time, it rose. His breathing became shallow and quick. He felt dizzy and drooled until no more saliva came out. He wanted his master--any of the masters he’d had. The last one had cubs who smelled just like him, but tiny and playful.
He looked up at the window as his mind started to drift. His eyes closed slowly.
He opened them to a familiar ceiling. It was ten centimeters away from his floating body. Perfect crimson spheres were suspended around him, glowing in the starlight. His head was throbbing. He wanted to check for injuries around his head, but he couldn’t. His right arm didn’t respond.
Neither did his legs.
His chances of survival sank more with every realization. He pushed the ceiling away gently with his remaining limb and floated backwards slowly. As his panorama widened, he started piecing together what had happened.
Whatever hit the ship must have started a chain reaction that ended with an explosion. He’d managed to release one of the buckles, but the other one was just half undone when the blast propelled him out of his seat. That must have broken his arm, and it explained the burning feeling around his shoulder--the friction had burned his skin. Most of the blood gathered around the ceiling over the captain’s seat. He ran his working hand through his hair until a sharp pain made him jerk it back. It was bloody.
Fuck.
He breathed in, counted to ten, then exhaled. Only remaining calm could help him now. If he’d been calm before, his extremities would be fine.
He looked out the window at the vast expanse before him. The ship was no longer spinning, but it was also no longer where they were before. The blast had somehow stabilized the ship, but it had thrown him off course. The yellow giant he flew by when his ship was first hit was nowhere to be seen. “Jenny, location.“ His empty words echoed in the lonely bridge.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He started checking every nook and cranny of the bridge for supplies, propelling himself with his remaining arm, thankful for the lack of gravity. In its current state, the ship wouldn’t fly. Not even the gates inside would open or close. He was locked in until someone or something found him floating around in space.
He found enough water bottles for a week, and several bags of his favorite snack. If he rationed it, he might last two or three weeks. But would he be found? Did they even know he was missing? Well, they would know soon. The Galactic Traders Administration would start looking for him after two days without any sightings of the ship at any Federation checkpoints.
Right?
His survival couldn’t be left to chance. He maneuvered with his arm until he reached the comm. station. To his surprise, it still worked. He caught a couple transmissions, encrypted for the most part. It was fine, he didn’t need to know who they were, he only needed them to come. He programmed an SOS and hit the Broadcast command on the small screen.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, and again, and again. Nothing.
He took a deep breath, holding it in.
One, he had water. Two, he had food. Three, the Administration would find him. Four, this happened all the time. Five, Jenny was offline. Six, he was badly injured. Seven, had he broken a rib? Eight, fuck. Nine, help. Ten.
He puked.
He desperately tried to catch something--anything on the communications array. Encrypted, encrypted, all encrypted. Why was everything encrypted?
“… a fierce battle for control of sector SCH-4D3 raged on for around 6 hours, to no victor.” At last, something. He smiled at the tiny screen. SCH-4D3 was where he was. “Peace talks have since resumed between the Federation and the Coalition, who’ve agreed to ban any registered military vehicles from entering the area.” No. They couldn’t. They…
“Civilians have also been warned not to-“ He smashed the screen with was strength he had left, pressing the Shut down command with his fist.
The impact made him float away in the opposite direction. Inertia carried him backwards as tears began streaming down his face. He had to calm down. How long could this take? The Federation and the Coalition did it all the time, their territories too vast to stop expanding. He’d seen peace treaties signed mere hours after breaking the previous one.
He’d be fine. He would.
He saw a floating bag of Laika’s close to his left hand and took it. The front of the bag had a simple design of a dog with a space suit, complete with a round, gray helmet. He chuckled. The ads for the treat were bizarre--macabre even. “Laika’s, the snack she never had.” He bought them on a whim and was quickly addicted, as did millions of others. As always, shock advertising got the best of them all.
He could eat one a day for fourteen days. Their modest caloric content would stall starvation until he was found.
As he ate, he began feeling sleepy. His thoughts were fuzzy. His head?
The bag ran out, as did his strength.
He opened his eyes again, not knowing how much time he had slept. He felt heavy, foggy, he couldn’t form complex thoughts.
He touched his head and realized he was no longer bleeding. Then an internal injury? Was he bleeding out into his stomach, or lungs? His heartbeat rose sharply once again as anxiety began taking his mind.
He inhaled deeply. One, two, three--he exhaled. He was out of breath.
Of course.
Foggy thoughts, difficulty concentrating, sleepiness. All symptoms of hypoxia. The ship’s life support system had failed.
He didn’t panic; he had no strength. He took all the Laika’s bags from beside the water where he’d put them and floated towards the front of the bridge. There, looking at the endless canvas of shiny, white lights, he ate what was left of his supplies.
He savored each bite of the snack she never had, as his consciousness slowly left his damaged body.
“Jenny, play some music for me, please.” He closed his eyes, relaxed and full.
“Sure thing, Tom.”
Afterword
This time is by far the latest I've submitted to 
I'm endlessly amazed at how much extra effort some people put in to help others grow. She's a prime example.
I had an 80's feeling going on as I typed this story. The history surrounding Laika, the first earthling to soar above the skies, has always moved me. I was also listening to David Bowie, and some elements from his concept may have slipped through, haha!
The name of the ship's on-board AI is inspired in a real abandoned ship, the British Schooner "Jenny". Give that article a read for some good maritime fuel for your imagination!
En fin. It has been a pleasure sailing with all of you on this journey. Thanks to
Bon voyage. Steem on!
Laika's bag made from resources from Shuttershock and Immer-digital. Title card made with resources from crt15 and Forbesimg.